Betrayal
by striped sunhat
Summary: You fall in love with a woman with hair like jungle shade and eyes like cool earth. You only meet her because of a betrayal. Klaus Wulfenbach has lost everything many times before. He's learned his lesson, perhaps too well.


You fall in love with a woman with hair like jungle shade and eyes like cool earth. You only meet her because of a betrayal.

For a while everything is good. You're confident she won't betray you. You love her and she loves you. The two of you are going to have a child.

You don't have a child; you have children.

This is not a good thing.

Twins are not something her people allow. Your children betray each other simply by both existing.

You flee.

You take your son. He's the one she'd betray if she had to. You don't leave a farewell, you don't leave an explanation, you certainly don't leave anything resembling a trail they can follow. You take him back to your old home where he'll be safe. It is not a betrayal; it is survival. Nothing is more important than the safety of your children. You know she will understand. (You purposefully don't ever try to verify this fact because you know you'd be proven wrong.)

You try to teach your son that there's betrayal in every outstretched hand, every offered drink. You can't be overt about it because he doesn't know who he is. It's safer that way.

Then a boy arrives with hair like blood and eyes like thunderstorms – seeding destruction even as they promise gentle rain. The boy draws your son in and it becomes clear your son hasn't learned the lessons you've tried to teach.

 _He will betray you_ , you tell your son. _You have to protect yourself_. You don't tell him he has to betray him first. You know your son won't agree, won't understand. _You must protect yourself because you are my son_. This time he heeds your lesson.

You teach your son that there's betrayal in every easy smile, every offer of friendship. Your methods still aren't the most overt but he learns.

You let him go out into the world. It's one of the hardest things you've ever done but he has to understand the world in order to survive it. So you let him go and receive your reports from your son, the protectors he knows about and the spies he doesn't. (Just because you let him go doesn't mean you let him go alone.) Your son almost immediately runs into the boy with hair like blood because the world is not fair and it likes to remind you of that at every possible occasion. You try to warn your son off but he beats you to it. _He would just betray me_. You allow yourself to relax – as much as you ever do. Your son has learned well. You deafen yourself to the hollowness of his tone. It's only later, once the world is bleeding, that you think to wonder if maybe your son didn't reach out because he'd already tried and failed. Ignorance is it's own kind of betrayal, just on one's self.

Your son comes back home.

You start to teach your son that there's betrayal in every pledge of fealty, every agreement of peace. He'll need to learn this if he's to be your son to the world.

Then a girl arrives with hair like bright-burning fire and eyes like hive engines – there's no false promises here, just destruction, absolute. Your son falls in love with her. Worse than that, your son trusts her.

Two of your oldest companions appear. Their presence almost steals the air from your lungs. You'd thought them dead. They don't come for you; they come for her. They've betrayed you. Still, for once you want to reach out anyways. You will not look past their betrayal, but you might work around it. If the sight of your old friends almost steals your breath then their words certainly do. They betray you because they think you betrayed them. You allow yourself a single moment of hurt and then you harden yourself against them. A betrayal is still a betrayal, regardless of the reason.

The girl is the daughter of your closest friend and your greatest betrayer. You don't know which side is stronger in her. You don't get a chance to find out.

The girl gets away. Your son wants to find her. Your son wants to help her.

 _She will betray you_ , you tell your son. _You have to protect yourself_.

 _She might not_ , your son argues back. He stands tall and proud, tries his best to look grown up, but you see the child that hadn't learned the lessons you'd tried to teach him, who'd been drawn in by an open hand, blind to the blood and storms hiding behind it.

The girl ends up solving your problem for you – by dying. Your son is heartbroken but he is safe. You traded your heart for his life years ago, and while it's a deal you never wanted him to have to make himself, it's one you're willing to accept.

Except the girl didn't die.

She returns stronger than ever, aided by the boy with hair like blood. Together they bring destruction the likes of which you haven't seen in years. A crack begins to form in the world.

You learn which of her parents she is.

One of her companions is a young warrior woman, with hair like jungle shade and eyes like cool earth.

Your daughter.

The woman you loved – still love – has betrayed you. She has sent your own daughter to kill your son. Why else would she be here?

You still can't bring yourself to kill her though. Not here, not now, not your own daughter. You betray your son by letting her live. You can only hope your betrayal won't be his end.

When you awaken, the girl with hair like fire is trying to grow even stronger still. Your son is by your side for now. You take what comfort from that that there is.

 _She has betrayed you_ , you tell your son. _You have to protect yourself_. Your son doesn't listen. He goes to help her, foolishly trusting her yet again. You cannot stop him.

Your son returns.

He is still helping her.

 _She has betrayed you_ , you tell your son.

 _It's not her fault_ , your son says back. It's the argument of a child. Or a puppet.

 _I have to protect you_.

You can't trust yourself around him. You can't trust him around himself. It is not betrayal; it is survival. Nothing is more important than the safety of your son.

When you are brought back, you learn you failed. You learn just how much you failed. You betrayed your son once more by leaving him when he needed you to protect him. This betrayal you know will be his end.

The girl has become an idol. The time she was lost to your son has served to mold her into an image of perfection, all of her betrayal burned away. Your attempts to keep her away from him have made her very presence a goal that your son pursues with an almost violent intensity.

The boy you'd barely spared a single thought for. That was a mistake. He has become the closest of confidants. More than that, he has become the link between the girl and your son. Where she cannot reach, he can. You'd thought your son safe from her manipulations. You now know you were wrong.

You see the boy place himself between you and your son, cutting you off from him. You watch your son let him.

 _He has betrayed you_ , you remind your son.

 _I betrayed him first_ , as if that made any kind of difference.

You have no idea where you failed, only that you have.

Your daughter is still in Europa as well. It takes you a long while to see her in person – however far away – but you hear stories involving her almost immediately. She's ensnared by the girl's web as well, scarcely from her side and by all accounts fiercely loyal. You don't know if she knows who you are to her.

You think she must not, or else your son would be dead.

The defenses you left in place are frayed and fading. They've been wearing on them, trying to break them. Your son has been helping them.

Or maybe they've been helping your son.

There's importance in that distinction, you just don't know what it is.

Your reappearance only strengthens their hold on him. You are an enemy, a threat.

 _They will betray you_.

 _Maybe_ , your son says. No attempt at denying or bargaining, just calm acceptance. _But you already have_.

Your son is lost.

Fire and blood sweep your son away. He will burn; he will drown. They will devour him whole and he will let them. You reach for him. Fire burns your hands, blood spills down your fingers, but still you reach. Thunderstorms beat you back; wasps drag you away. You will not stop. You will save your son.

Your daughter learns the truth of her brother. Your son learns the truth of his sister. The world learns the truth of your daughter. You learn the truth of your children's anger. You cannot do anything but wait for your first betrayal to kill your son. Your daughter does not kill her brother. You wonder what your love would think of her daughter betraying her.

Your son lives, but is still lost.

 _You have betrayed him_ , the girl says. You can see fire licking at her arms, wasps buzzing around her head. _But we will fix him_.

Even when they're not physically together, they work in tandem, stretched across continents but never faltering. To the rest of the world they are a fairy tale. Or a legend just unfolding. They pretend they're trying to hold the world together. You can see the cracks splinter out wherever they touch. The world slowly begins to cheer them on and it feels like betrayal.

 _You have betrayed him_ , the boy says. You can see blood pooling at his feet, storm clouds forming at his back. _But we have fixed him_. Behind the boy is your son. He's standing next to the girl.

Your son isn't just lost he is gone.

Your son's freedom for his safety isn't a trade you'd ever wanted to make, but it's a deal you've made before and it's one you're willing to make again. You will get him back. And when you do you will protect him.

Now the three of them are all but inseparable. The cheers grow louder.

It is a fight that finally brings you to your son again. For now at least you are supposedly on the same side. When the madness dies down, you wonder if you can be fast enough to betray them and get your son away before they betray you.

The boy's hair is matted and wet. When a drop winds down his brow it's red. What else but blood would drip from his hair? Parts of the girl's clothing are on fire. The flames dare not touch her hair. It is fire itself; it needs no help burning. In between them is your son. He is awash with blood, wreathed in flames. It drips down his skin, eats at his clothes. He has been wrapped too far into them and now he's paying the price. He ignores you standing slumped against a wall. He reaches for them instead. He moves to stem the blood flowing down his face, to smother the fire curling at her blouse. They reach back for him. You wait for the flames to grow, for the blood to pour. Instead he carefully puts the fire out; she gently wipes the blood away.

When they're done they're not two demons of fire and blood, your son trapped and helpless between them. Instead they are three children, tired, bruised and dirty, sitting piled together on the ground.

You watch your son lean into them; you watch them lean back. You don't know what you're seeing any more.

You shift your weight and they snap their focus over to you, scrambling to their feet. Gone are the almost smiles, the gentle fussing. You are an enemy, a threat.

That's when the girl's companions arrive. Your daughter is leading them. It's the first time you've seen her since she found out who you are.

You've never left her when she needed you only because you were never there to begin with. There's a kind of betrayal in that too.

Your daughter stares at you. The rest place themselves between you and their lady. Between you and your children. Suddenly you don't care about betrayal that's coming or the way the world's breaking apart. All you want is your children.

It's your son who breaks the standoff. "I think we've fought each other enough."

You feel yourself nodding. At the prompting of their lady, the others slowly slink away, off to contain the winding down chaos still going on around you. Eventually it's just the five of you. The boy and the girl clearly do not plan on leaving you alone with them. They are staying. For once the thought doesn't fill you with anger. There are hands on each of your son's shoulders, laced through both of your daughter's own. They stand together, watching you. While you might not be an enemy right now, you are still a threat.

Your daughter takes a step forward. You can feel her studying you. You don't know what she'll find. What she wants to find. She takes another step forward. Your son follows her. The boy and girl linger as their hands slip off your son's shoulders, unwilling to let him go but less willing to force him into stillness. Your daughter's hand untangles from the girl's. The other she keeps clasped in her brother's. Together they step towards you.

They stop just a few steps in front of you. You have so much you want to say to them and no idea what any of it is. You say nothing.

They don't offer any words either, but something else instead.

You take their outstretched hands and for the first time in years you don't see betrayal.


End file.
